


American Bombshell

by writeonclara



Series: Good Vibrations [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: American Bombshell War Daddy, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Comedy, M/M, Sex Shop, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: Captain America wakes up in the future and runs straight into a sex shop. Bucky accidentally traumatizes him with novelty silicone dicks.And then: aliens.





	American Bombshell

It was a slow Monday morning when Bucky first met, and subsequently traumatized, Captain America.

Bucky didn’t recognize him at first. To be fair, the dude _just_ woke up—literally—and Bucky was hungover to shit. He’d been staring at the same line in his book for the past fifteen minutes when the bells on the door jangled and in charged a fucking _Greek god_. It was fall, and cold as death outside, but the guy was in just a thin white shirt that strained over his heaving bosom and a pair of khakis that were only remarkable by how hideous they were. And Lord Jesus, _his face_. Blue eyes, pink DSLs currently parted in horror, cheekbones and jawline cut straight from Michelangelo's David, a nose just this side of beaky and that was somehow _perfect_.

Bucky should be forgiven for gaping. He was only human.

The guy came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the store and spun around in a very slow circle, and when he was facing Bucky again, his eyes were comically wide and _really blue_ , holy hell.

Bucky quickly closed his mouth. “Hey,” he said, consideringly. The guy definitely wasn’t the furtive type who liked to loiter around the mags and not buy anything, nor even one of the shy, sweet guys who was curious enough to be adventurous. Actually, he looked a lot like a guy who had ran into the store expecting fine art and instead got smacked in the face by row after row of giant silicone dicks.

The man’s head snapped up like he hadn’t even realized Bucky was there. His eyes stuttered over Bucky’s bionic arm, which wasn’t unusual, but then he looked just as taken aback by his tattoos, labret, and messy man bun. 

“I—this is— _what_?” the Adonis gasped.

Bucky lifted an eyebrow, not moving from where he was leaning his forearms against the counter. 

“That is—that is—” The man waved wildly at one of their more popular displays: a giant red monster cutely named American Bombshell War Daddy. “That’s a—a _penis_.”

Bucky considered the War Daddy. It was, indeed, a penis. A humongous, veiny, truly horrible penis.

“No shit?” Bucky said, making his eyes wide. He looked around, affecting an air of total surprise. “Oh my god, where did they all come from?”

The guy slowly lowered his hand, staring at Bucky like _he_ was the one going out of his mind. 

“I’d try something a little less ambitious than the American Bombshell War Daddy if this is your first foray into buttplay,” Bucky said, taking pity on the guy. He was starting to look alarmingly wild around the edges. “Maybe a vibrating buttplug? Those are _great_. They’ve got all these different settings to stimulate your P-spot, like pulsing and—”

And then suddenly the guy was in front of Bucky, faster than an eye blink, fisting the front of his shirt with both hands and hauling Bucky half-over the counter. 

Okay. Maybe Bucky shouldn’t have teased him. Dude looked one wrong word away from a total meltdown.

“H-hey, buddy,” Bucky said. The guy’s face was real close, and—oddly familiar, actually. Bucky didn’t think he was an ex-boyfriend—he’d remember a face like that—but there was something about the guy that felt—nostalgic.

“What are you _talking_ about?” the guy said, almost desperately. He searched Bucky’s face, like he was looking for something recognizable, but kept getting snagged on his labret. 

“Uh,” Bucky said, bewildered and feeling weirdly stupid. “Sex toys?”

Mr. Adonis froze, staring down into his eyes with perfectly round baby-blues. “ _What_.”

The bells over the door jangled again and a couple of stiffly dressed suits strolled in. “Captain Rogers,” a balding, middle aged white man said in the mildest tone of voice. “Please let go of the young man.”

“Captain— _ohh_.” Of course Bucky had heard about the incredible discovery in the Arctic. So they were able to successfully revive the good captain, huh? And he had, apparently, run screaming out the building—and straight into Good Vibrations, oh _no_.

“That explains the whole penis thing,” Bucky said, with a small, sympathetic wince. “You—probably aren’t that familiar with sex toys.”

Captain America’s hands tightened on Bucky’s shirt, tearing the fabric. Bucky winced. He liked the shirt, for all that it was just a black v-neck. Although, honestly, he should probably be more concerned about the pissed off supersoldier glaring down at him with frantic blue eyes.

It was _weird_. The man was born in the 1910s or whatever, but he looked the same age as Bucky, maybe even a year younger. And Bucky really was a soft fucking touch, because he felt damn bad for the guy, even though he looked like he was one step away from murdering Bucky for _graphically describing butt toys_ , oh my god. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, gently, and wrapped his metal hand around Steve Rogers’ wrist. Steve jerked a little at the touch, because bionics were probably weird as shit to him. Bucky sympathized. Over one of Steve’s shoulders, Bucky saw an agent slowly pull out a taser—for him or Steve, he couldn’t tell.

He focused back on Steve’s face. “I’m sorry, man. This must be weird as all hell to you.”

Some of the wild panic leached out of Steve’s eyes, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Bucky’s shirt. Bucky thought—hoped—that it had more to do with grounding himself than actually wanting to do Bucky harm.

“When I got back, my favorite corner store had been turned into a froyo shop,” Bucky continued, keeping his voice soft and sweet. “Can you believe it? Fucking froyo.”

Finally, Steve’s hands relaxed. “This used to be a butcher shop,” he said, faintly. “I don’t know what froyo is.”

“Okay, you might have me beat,” Bucky said, after a thoughtful moment. Then he had to swallow down a joke about ‘beating meat.’ Instead of making the poor man even more uncomfortable with his inappropriate sense of humor, he patted his wrist with his human hand.

“Captain Rogers,” the mild mannered man in a suit repeated. “Please come with us.”

Steve’s hand tightened in Bucky’s shirt again, like Bucky was his life preserver. Bucky glanced at the clock. Vanessa should be there soon, and it was a slow day anyway. He could leave the shop for a couple of minutes. It was his patriotic duty. Wade would understand.

“Come on, buddy,” Bucky said, carefully pulling Steve’s hand away from his shirt with his left hand, which was considerably stronger than the rest of him. Some of the cloth went with it. At least he could now honestly say that Captain America had ripped off his clothing. He kept his hand wrapped around the Steve’s wrist. “Tell you what, I’ll walk with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said, eventually. He was staring down at Bucky’s hand, like he was battling with some old timey values about practically holding hands with another man, but Bucky could see the moment he thought, _fuck it_. Being surrounded by giant silicone dicks probably put old prejudices into perspective.

Bucky circled the counter and led _Captain fucking America_ to the entrance, keeping up the continuous stream of cheerful chatter. "You don't know what froyo is? Buddy, have you been missing out. It's like, soft serve ice cream that you can load up with _everything_. Chocolate sprinkles, cookies, gummi bears..."

They made it all the way out the door when the mild-faced agent turned to him and held up a hand. “We’ll take it from here, Mr. Barnes,” he said, which, wow, creepy. “Please remove your hand from Captain Rogers.”

Bucky yanked his hand back like he’d been burned. Amazingly, Steve looked a little wounded. “Wait, no,” Bucky told him, quickly, then turned and glared at the fucking bland-faced Agent Potato Head. “You make it sound like I was groping him.”

The agent shrugged a little and just looked at him. Mildly.

“Alright,” Bucky said dubiously, then turned back to Steve, who had donned a very stoic I-am-Captain-America-and-nothing-phases-me face. “Are you—no, that’s a stupid question. You’re _going_ to be okay.” He grinned up at Steve, trying to put as much faith into it as possible. “You’re—” he almost said Captain America, but that didn’t seem right. This freaked out man beside him was one hundred percent Steve Rogers. So instead Bucky said, “—Steve Rogers, scrapping with bullies since the 20s, right? You can take anything on.”

Steve sucked in a breath through his nose, then exhaled slowly through his teeth. He didn’t respond to Bucky’s little pep talk; instead, his eyes dropped down to Bucky’s clavicles. Bucky sort of wanted to hold his shirt together like a blushing virgin, which he very much was not, but flashing some tit to Captain America felt sort of like flashing the pope. Even if it _was_ the good captain’s fault his shirt was in such a state.

“Sorry I ripped your shirt,” Steve said.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, magnanimously.

Steve searched his face for one long moment, then turned around and dutifully followed the suits down the sidewalk.

Bucky tottered back into Good Vibrations and collapsed onto a small steel stool behind the counter. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there before the bells on the door jangled again and Vanessa tumbled in, loaded down with a huge winter coat draped over one arm and the purse she lived out of dangling precariously off her other. 

“Man, it’s a madhouse out there right now—” She stopped and frowned at Bucky. “The hell’s up with you? Why are you staring at War Daddy like he screwed your boyfriend behind your back?”

Bucky dragged his eyes away from the veiny red titan and stared up at Vanessa, horrified. “I just told Captain America that he should buy an _vibrating buttplug_ ,” he told her, voice strangled. Then, a second later, “Oh my god, shut up! Stop laughing!”

* * *

And then: aliens.

* * *

Bucky knuckled his eye, shuffling one step closer to the coffee counter. He’d had a closing shift last night and didn’t get home until three a.m., but Wade was a fucking asshole and gave him the opening shift, anyway. Bucky was pretty sure he was jealous because _he_ didn’t get to try selling Captain America a vibrating buttplug.

“Oh my god,” the girl in front of him burbled, sounding way too fucking awake for—ten a.m., okay, maybe Bucky was just a human disaster. “I _swear_ I saw Captain America jogging the other day. And, Maddy, he _smiled_ at me!”

“He was probably smiling at some old lady behind you or something,” said Maddy, her blue-haired friend. She rolled her eyes at her phone, like listening to Denise was the absolute pits. Way to be a super duper friend, Maddy. “You always think hot guys are smiling at you, Denise.”

“I swear!” Denise squeaked, her cheeks going nearly as red as her hair, and wow, Maddy was kind of an awful person. Sure, this Denise girl was unforgivably bubbly for this hour of the morning, but why knock someone down a peg for something so innocent?

Then the rest of the conversation clicked. “Wait, did you say Captain America?” Bucky interrupted.

Huh. Bucky had wondered how Steve was doing. Sounded like he’d recovered enough from the War Daddy fiasco to do something as mundanely awful as jogging. Bucky was glad.

Both girls turned to him. There was a second where Maddy looked irritated that he butt into their conversation, but then she did a double-take and suddenly she was all sweet smiles and hair flips.

Bucky, very deliberately, turned his grin to Denise.

“Um, y-yeah,” Denise stuttered, her blush spreading all the way down to her neck. Poor thing. Becca was like that; blushed easily, and all over her face. “He—”

She was cut off by a rolling rumble, and then the entire building quaked violently. Maddy and Denise shrieked and grabbed on to each other as the huge bay window blew inward and something huge, gray, and ugly as fuck leaped in, mean looking gun in one hand.

Instinctively, Bucky grabbed one of the bistro chairs and smashed it into the creature’s hand, knocking the gun away. Maddy, for all that she was a stereotypical Mean Girl, scrambled after the gun and heaved it up like a goddamn champ. The juiced up E.T. snarled wetly and launched itself at Bucky, and they went straight back through the window. Glass sliced up Bucky’s face and arms, but he was far more worried about the _second_ gun E.T. was trying to shove into his face.

And then there was a flash of red, white, and blue, and the alien was ripped away from him. Bucky pushed himself up with his left arm, glass crunching under his metal palm. Around him: chaos. Black smoke billowing out of smoldering cars. Men and women ducking into narrow alleys, or behind cars, or into buildings. Captain America punching the shit out of the alien that had done its best to eat Bucky’s face.

“Hey! War Daddy!” Bucky shouted, hauling himself to his feet, chuffed beyond belief at running into Captain America—again. Okay, most of it was probably giddy relief at being rescued from the Alien Terminators, but watching Captain America go tomato red all the way to his ugly-ass helmet and beyond was truly a beautiful sight to behold.

“Oh my god,” Captain America said, appalled. “Do not _call_ me that.”

“Did this young man just—just call you _War Daddy_?” Iron Man said, zooming into view— _Iron Man_ —and even though his voice filtered out metallic, it was high and delighted, like Bucky had just given him a whole lifetime of birthday presents.

“American Bombshell War Daddy,” Bucky said, a little hysterically. “Look it up.”

“Do _not_ look it up,” Captain America said, just as hysterically.

Iron Man hovered for a second. “Oh. Em. Gee,” he said, burbling with laughter, which meant he had, in fact, looked it up. “I can’t even—this is too good. _Captain America_.” The last bit was said with all the scandalized vigor of a ninety year old woman clutching her pearls.

“Tony. _Aliens_ ,” Captain America gritted out.

Bucky burst out laughing because _oh yeah_ New York was currently being shot to shit by actual goddamn _space aliens_ , and here he was discussing novelty dildos with _superheroes_.

Iron Man cackled with him, then flew off to stop an alien from incinerating a young woman and her child. 

Captain America whirled on him, ripping off his helmet so that he could better glare at Bucky. “Do you have _any idea_ what kind of ammo you just handed him?”

Bucky grinned up at him because, really. “An American Bombshell?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Captain America asked, with a disgusted noise.

Bucky shook his head apologetically. “To my defense, I’m pretty sure I’m in shock,” he said, cheerfully.

Captain America stared down at him, like he was about to launch into a lecture about truth, justice, and the American way, but then he opened his mouth and said, “I’ll show _you_ an American Bombshell,” and cannonballed at the nearest alien.

Bucky laughed so hard he collapsed against a burnt out shell of a car.

* * *

Less than a week after the alien invasion, Bucky found Captain America loitering outside Good Vibrations. He was clearly trying to play down all his golden glory with black framed glasses and a dorky baseball cap, but it was like putting a Michelangelo painting in an IKEA frame: still an amazing piece of art, no matter how you wrapped it. He generated more than a few appreciative glances, only for the all the eyes to slide away when they realized he was peering intently into a shop full of dildos.

Bucky sidled up behind him. For all that Captain America was a superhero, he was far too caught up in trying (and failing) to discreetly peer into the store.

“I knew you’d give in eventually,” Bucky said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Here for the War Daddy?”

Captain America—no, _Steve Rogers_ , performed a complicated mid-air pirouette and landed with his fists up, like Bucky was some sort of Hydra soldier. “Jesus Christ!”

“Oh my god, you looked like such a creeper right now, staring into the shop like that,” Bucky said, grinning at him. 

Steve glared back, then ran his fingers through his hair. “I was just coming by to see if you were okay,” he said, a little petulantly. _But there is no way I was going to enter that den of iniquity again,_ his face added. He scanned Bucky’s face, taking in the stitches at his temple and the scrapes on his cheek, and frowning a little. “ _Are_ you okay?”

Bucky beamed at him, touched. He knocked his metal arm. “Takes more than an alien invasion to keep me down,” he said, neglecting to mention the screaming nightmares. _Aliens_.

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked, and Bucky realized in the three times he’d met the man, this was the first time he’d seen him smile. Granted, the other two times involved Steve waking up in a different century to _giant dildos_ , followed closely by the whole _alien space invasion_.

“You know,” Bucky said, shifting his weight onto one foot. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. Bucky Barnes.” He held out one hand.

Steve took Bucky’s hand. “Steve Rogers. Pleasure’s mine.”

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to drop his hand right away, but it was okay because Steve didn’t seem all that in a hurry to let him go, either. He thought, _to hell with it_ and asked, “So, Steve, have you tried sushi yet? Raw fish. It’s delicious. There’s a new place in Tribeca I’ve been meaning to check out.”

For a moment Bucky thought Steve was going to refuse, but then his small smile bloomed into a grin that lit up the entire fucking city. “That sounds excellent, Bucky.”


End file.
